The Warlord Claims His Bride (2 page)

The closer they came, the faster her heart pounded. It was better to back away from the politics of the land, especially when it concerned a clan that was as lethal as the Lyons. The warriors moved closer to the farm, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe as she stared at the warlord Bronson. He didn’t notice her, didn’t even turn his focus her way, but then again he never did. Surely compared to the women he had been with she was nothing more than a farmer’s daughter with nothing to offer. She could see why he had defeated all of his enemies, why just his name sent fear in the surrounding villages, and even throughout the kingdom. Just looking at him frightened and excited her to no end. She wiped a bead of sweat that was trailing down her temple and licked her suddenly dry lips. He stopped his steed on the other side of her fence, so close to her that she could have reached out and touched him. For a moment he just sat there, and she was frozen to the spot. His men stopped behind him, their horses breathing out and stomping their hooves. And then Bronson started speaking in Gaelic. His words were clipped and harsh as he spoke about finally being able to rest after the grueling battles. After he stopped speaking he was silent for a moment, and then he slowly turned her way. She lowered her head, thankful that she had decided to wear the oversized hat because it blocked his view from her. Genevieve knew he couldn’t see her, but she still felt his gaze upon her.

Finally she heard him move away and lifted her head up. He moved away from her small, meager cottage, and headed toward the towering manor that sat atop the hill in her village. She remembered when that massive stone structure had been built. It had taken years, and a man that hadn’t cared about the people that lived below him had resided there. The rumors of the many women the former lord of the manor had bedded, of the feasts he had thrown even when there was not a scrap of food that could have been spared, had run rampant throughout town. But, like Genevieve, the villagers had focused on themselves and worried about caring for their own families. Why worry about a man that had stolen land from another, and didn’t care whether the people in the village were taken care of?

She watched Bronson and his men head up to the manor. Bronson may have been on the battlefield for many years, but he had made sure that the people in the villages on his land were taken care of, had food and fresh water, and were safe from danger. But despite the fact he had done many good deeds, he was still this powerful warlord that could easily take down a group of men with his bare hands alone. She shivered, feeling an iciness travel through her.

“Child, are ye okay?” Her father stepped up beside her and wiped his brow.

She turned her focus away from the manor and stared at her father. He wiped his brow once more as sweat beaded down his skin and squinted at her.

“Genevieve, ye look frightened.”

“I’m fine, Da.” She focused back on Bronson, but he and his men had already disappeared behind the gates of the manor.

****

A fortnight later

Genevieve sat across from her father at the small wooden table. The cottage they lived in was small, and her father and many of the other villagers had helped build it. But then again the people that lived in this village helped each other, because they were the only ones to rely on. But maybe now that Lord Bronson had taken residence in the manor things would be better? The sound and scent of the animals could be heard and smelled through the open window. This was her life, and she wouldn’t have changed it for anything. Yes, they had to work for their food, and the meager amount of money that they earned was on the occasions her father traveled into the bigger towns. The villages in the surrounding land did not have the means to pay for the goods her father brought from their farm, the wool, milk, eggs, and even the few items of clothing she had sewn. They lived in poverty, but they were alive and happy, and wasn’t that all that mattered? 

“Ye canna be serious, Da.” What surprised her was that not only did her father want her to marry and leave him, but that he wanted her to be the warlord Bronson’s bride.

“Aye, child. I am verra serious.” They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds.

“Da, Bronson Lyon takes women as hard and often as he takes his mead.” Of course that had been what she heard in his short time at the manor. She swallowed roughly at the very thought of that behemoth of a man rutting around between her thighs, but she also couldn’t stop the arousal that filled her. He frightened her, but she desired him. She really didn’t want to have this conversation with her father, and didn’t want to think about a man like Bronson taking her to his bed, even if there was a part of her that grew warm at the thought. Would he be as fierce and brutal in bed as he was in the battlefield? Surely he wouldn’t care about her comfort, or her pleasure, and would just take from her as easily as he took from everyone else. He would tear her in half, and even though she was still untouched, surely an experienced wench wouldn’t be able to handle the insatiable appetites of Lord Bronson.

She glanced down at the scarred table and ran her fingers along the cracks in the wood. But hadn’t this been what she wanted? Hadn’t she wanted to be with the warlord?
Aye, but those were thoughts, a fantasy.

“Genevieve, lass, ye are nearing the age of twenty. Ye’re not a child any longer, and should have been wed with a handful of babes by now.” Her father rubbed a hand over his greying beard and sighed. She knew twenty was old for a maid to unmarried. Most of the time eighteen was the oldest a woman was wed, and even then that was not considered young. Since her mother died five years ago her father had been struggling with doing everything himself. He may never say anything to her about his troubles and loneliness, but Genevieve could feel it as well as if it were her own. Leaving her father when he had no one broke her heart, and so when the one suitor had come for her hand in marriage—a farmer’s son from her village—she had politely turned him away.

“Da, this isn’t a farmer living beside us but the warlord that reclaimed his land. The body count alone that was left in his wake is frighteningly large.” Another shiver worked through her. She realized she had many of those instances where a shiver took control of her, when seeing or even thinking about Bronson. How could a man she had never even spoken to have this kind of effect on her?

“I kno’, lass, and that is why I want ye tae wed him.”

She shook her head, not knowing what to say. She was brought up not to argue and to always obey, and if her father hadn’t approved of her refusing her one and only marriage proposal, she would be a farmer’s wife right now. But this instance made her want to lash back with words. Her moving away, even if just to the manor in their village, was not the best thing right now. “I am happy with this life, Da. I want tae stay here, tae be with ye and make sure ye’re taken care of.” She smiled at her father, knowing that seeing him alone would tear her up inside.

“Sweetheart, I am a grown man, have lived my life, and now it is time for ye tae live
yours
.”

“And if I said I donna want this? Will ye still make me?” The look he gave her wasn’t cruel or heartless, because her father was one of the gentlest men she knew. He looked at her like a father that was desperate for his daughter to have a better life.

“Lord Bronson Lyon can protect ye, make ye happy, of that I am sure. He will provide for ye, child.” Her father cleared his throat, and she heard the emotion in his words. “Staying with yer da is not a proper life for a woman of yer age. Ye need tae create a family of yer own, lass.”

Now she was crying big, fat tears, and she grew angry at not being able to control her emotions. “Da, and what if he donna want me? I am not thin and beautiful like the other women that surely he wants. I have also led a life on the farm. Ye kno’ the women that will want Lord Bronson will be of upper-class. ” She reached out and held his hand. “I love working with ye and the animals, and wouldn’t want it any other way.” She looked down at the table. “The chance he may not want me is verra big.”

Her father scoffed. “Bollocks. He would have to be insane not to want a beauty like ye.” Her da reached a scarred, dirt stained hand out, and brushed a lock of hair away that had fallen across her face. “Ye look just like yer Ma.” Her father smiled. “With the fiery red hair and the stunning green eyes.” He let go of her hair. “O’ course he will want you, lass, and if no’ then he is no’ worthy of ye.” Her father stood, grabbed his straw hat, and looked at her once more. “In a fortnight we will go to the lord’s manor, so put on yer prettiest dress, and smile, darlin’. Bronson does no’ want a wealthy brought up wife. He wants a woman that is a peasant and has had tae work for the life she has.” And then her father left, and Genevieve knew that was it. Her life and future could shift drastically with one word from Bronson, and that one word was “Mine”.

****

It had been a fortnight since Bronson had announced to the small village of Landonston that he would be searching for a bride to help him to carry on the Lyon namesake. There were villages around Landonston: Harrowsworth, Kellerstell, Finnertystall, and Bluendot. All five villages had once been Lyon territory until a group of savages had come and taken that away from his family. It was a land that had once been filled with livestock, hardworking men wanting to take care of their wives and children, farming, and with happy families that were loyal to the Lyons. But after his father had been killed on the battlefield, the Lyon territory had been given to different men by Dawson McCarrick. Even thinking of the name of the man that murdered his father had a red rage covering his entire body. Over the many, many years of the land not being claimed by Clan Lyon everything had declined until it was desolate villages that were scrounging to survive.

No longer would that be the case. Now that Bronson had secured all five territories, it would stay Clan Lyon land until time’s end.

He sat behind the scarred, but well used, table in the dining hall, and watched as the women from the villages were ushered in. He had four of his highest warriors sitting beside him, and although tonight was about him finding a bride, that wasn’t to say the other men were not also ready for more than just bloodshed and war, and occasionally rutting between a wench’s thighs. The women continued to come forth. Although there were only so many women in the five villages, and they certainly were not from high standings, Bronson had purposefully decreed it so. He wanted a woman who knew the meaning of hard work, and could give as well as receive. If he were to wed a woman of social standing such as his own, one who had never tended to an animal or a field, or had never known what it was like to lose something important, how could he expect to have children with her that were strong and had good values? No, he wanted a peasant wife, one that could give as well as could receive. But even though his desires for a wife had been known, there had still been offers by other lords to give their daughters to Bronson.

When the last woman was ushered in with their escorts stationed behind them, Bronson stood from his seat and moved down the platform to stand before them. The scent of where they came from still lingered around them even though they were freshly cleaned and clothed. He liked that, though. Bronson wasn’t a man that wanted flowery and sweet smelling aromas to hide who they really were. He had death and blood, dirt and anger that constantly surrounded him. It was engrained in his skin, his heart and soul. After they were wed he would have her scented for his pleasure, but only for that first time, only to arouse every sense that they had. When he had his bride in his bed and displayed for his pleasure, he would run his lips and hands over every inch of her body. His cock became hard at those thoughts.

He started at one end and looked at each woman. The majority of them were of the same slender build. Bronson had always liked the thicker female form. The woman he chose this day would not only be his to look after, but he would make sure her family was also taken care of. If he was a cruel leader he wouldn’t have cared about the people that resided under his territory, but Bronson was far from cruel when it came to others he considered under his protection. He glanced at each woman thoroughly. Tall, short, hair the color of honey, and some a deep muddy color like the bottom of the loch that surrounded Landonston. But then there was the sight of a woman with her head downcast, her hands behind her back, and her hair the color of the hottest fires that he had ever seen. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, couldn’t look at anyone else but her. Her body was wrapped in a deep emerald colored dress, a striking complement to the shade of her hair. The material also hugged her curves so he didn’t have to visualize her body, as her endowments were on full display for him to see. Bronson liked a woman with curves and flesh on them that he could hold onto as he plunged in and out of their bodies. He wanted a woman that could handle the type of passion he gave her, and this woman, with the hair the color of flames, looked like she could hold her own between his sheets.

He moved toward her, and when he stood right in front of her he inhaled deeply. She smelled fruity, yet of the earth. She still had yet to meet his gaze, so he placed his finger under her chin and slowly lifted her head.

“Lass, look at me.” And then he was staring into the greenest eyes he had ever seen, ones the color of the new and fresh moss that grew along the rocks of the Landonston Loch. He didn’t need to look at any of the other women to know this was the one he wanted. He knew it as well as he knew he needed to take his next breath and where every scar he’d earned on the battlefield was located on his body. This young little lass was exactly what he wanted, and she was who he would claim as a bride.

Chapter Two

Genevieve stared up at the massive man standing before her. She imagined him all those times she had seen him, how he had made her feel, and what she had wanted to do with him. He would be riding on his black stallion, his tartan waving in the air as his men held it high and proud. He was a controlled man, and one that was patient. It was all those things, but so much more, that made a good leader, and as she looked into his icy blue eyes, she knew he was one of those. She knew nothing about the man in front of her aside from what was rumored about his fierceness when taking down his enemy. It had taken him all those years to conquer all and reclaim what was his. But now that she was so close to him, seeing his bare chest that was so hard and defined, but also littered with scars from his battles, she knew that this man could very well be her downfall. How was it possible to want a man as much as she wanted him, but have never said one word to him? His shoulders were so broad, and blocked out everything behind him so she felt like it was just the two of them right here and now.